


Unbuttoned

by ljs



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: An episode tag for the 2016 Christmas episode "The Return of Doctor Mysterio."He couldn't say her name.





	

He couldn't say her name.

Irritated at himself, still grieving, irritated at the depth of that grief, the Doctor walks into the Tardis and then slows. Almost without thinking his hand goes to his throat.

Her name is there. River. His River. Professor Song or Doctor Song or Sweetie. It's right there, and he should be able to say it, but it's as if twenty-four years of joy have become a hard painful lump in the throat. If he speaks her name, the joy will break apart and be lost…

That's ridiculous. He's an idiot, through and through. He knows it. If she were here, she'd tell him so, and…

If she were here, she'd go for his throat. The phrasing would once have amused him, but now it's yet another knot of grief.

His index finger touches his topmost shirt button.  
…………………….

"I do prefer this version of you without a tie," she said, that first few hours of their twenty-four years, and there in the shimmering light of the console room, after he had played her the song of the Towers on his guitar, she had drifted her fingers over his bare throat.

"Trying to work out the best way to strangle me?" he said, eyebrows raised, hearts beating faster.

She laughed, husky and pleased. "Oh I already know that." She leaned forward and pressed her lips just at the base of his throat. The warmth of her was almost too much for him – he had to brace himself with his hands on her hips. At his touch she shivered. "Sweetie. This is new."

"What?" he said, a little lost, completely and utterly in the right place.

She lifted her head to smile at him. He imagined she might be going to say something, and he wanted to hear what she had to say, but first – "Sorry, River, I have to," he said, and kissed her.

As he re-learned the contours of her lips, as he breathed in what he had feared lost forever and gave her his full attention, her hand came back to his throat. This time it was her palm, flat against his throat, sliding up and around his neck to cradle his nape. She drew him closer without pressure, just by her presence. He kissed her for a long time.

Then, when he would have taken a step back, she lifted her leg to press against the back of his knees. He stumbled into her – immovable force of nature that she was – and her mouth touched his ear and then traveled down to his throat. She kissed him then, where she had only touched him before, and he felt the electrical charge of it travel.

"I do like this more accessible you," she purred. "Try not to wear a tie around me."

"Happy to help," he said, his head thrown back to allow her to taste as she willed. 

Above them the Tardis glowed, warm and happy, and they were safe and together.  
…………………….

He looks up now, and touches his throat, there where she had kissed him that first hour, there where she had kissed him a thousand thousand times after.

He's a ridiculous old man, he thinks. Those years of joy can't be lost. The days and hours and minutes they'd spent together changed him, and they stay with him now. He's a better person than he was.

But he misses her fiercely. He misses her touch, her tantrums, her hair (so much hair!), her caresses, her arguments, her care of him. 

He misses the kisses on his throat. 

River, he thinks but does not say, and keeps looking up.

Above him the Tardis glows, warm and comforting. He is alone. He is not alone at all if he remembers.


End file.
